Losing Love
by BlackGooseGirl
Summary: The world remembers Zacharias Smith and Daphne Greengrass. WARNING: Self harm. Do not read if this offends or upsets you.


The world remembers Zacharias Smith and Daphne Greengrass.

He hasn't looked at her photo in months. It was a muggle photo, they'd had it done in a fit of freedom and even though the glass was shattered from where he'd thrown it across the room, she still smiled at him, reminding him of what he'd done.

_Flashback_

She passes him in the hallway with her group of Slytherin girls, Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Somebody-or-other, and other ones too obscure to know. She barely looks at him, just a quick glance, with no recognition she's seen him, and carries on walking, her hair loose and swishing back and forth, teasing him. The swing of her hips, the shine of her hair, reminds him of last night, of its sheer brilliance, of her laughter, of feelings he never thought he'd feel, and he can't take it anymore.

"Hey, Greengrass," he calls, and turns and starts after her. She swings her head around, an annoyed look on her face, a look that only she would be able to make sexy, and furrows her brow, as if trying the remember his name.

"Yes? Can I-" she starts, but never finishes as he pushes her up against the wall and kisses her. This is different to anything that may have happened last night. That was forbidden, under a locked door, kept a secret. This- this is public, this was announcing to the world that he didn't give a damn what they thought.

She relaxes into his touch, and pushes her hips up into him ever so slightly, and carries on kissing him. He's vaguely aware of Parkinson screeching, and Tracey Davies- Davies, that was her name- cheering, but it seems to fade into the back round and all he can hear is the pounding of the blood in his ears. He pulls away, desperate for air, and she smirks at him.

"Guess you didn't want to keep it a secret after all, huh?"

He smiles and leans back down, but is stopped by a shout from behind him.

"Hey, Smith. Get your hands off her."

He sighs. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin extraordinaire, going around making sure his Slytherin girls don't fall to 'his' level. He can't be bothered with him today.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. Go find a red head to snog." And to cat-calls he kisses her again.

_Forward two years_

They're lying on the grass in the park in muggle London just outside their flat. The sun is hot, and her eyes are closed. She can't see what he's doing, so he traces his hand up and down her arm, softly, making her giggle. Her skin is smooth and silken, and sets the nerves in his hand jingling. He leans down and kisses her shoulder. He rests his head there, breathing in her scent, blinking back tears. Tomorrow, they join the battle. Tomorrow, one life ends and another begins. Everything changes tomorrow. But for now, the sun is hot, and her eyes are closed, and they're together.

_Forward six months_

He can't believe it. He's managed to get himself captured. _Five months_ on the run, and he steps into a battle and gets himself captured! They've snapped his wand, so he's going to have to rely on his instincts to get him out of here. He sure as hell isn't staying here.

The guys who captured him- he sees now that they're Crabbe and Goyle, God, the shame just gets worse and worse- drag him into a room and force him to look up, onto a chair where a hideous thing is sitting. It takes him a second to realize that this must be Voldemort. It's strange, it's worse than he'd first thought it was. 

"S'up," he says through the blood streaming from a broken nose, and grins. The Death Eaters stare at him. Clearly, they were expecting hysterics, crying, begging, that sort of thing. He rolls his eyes in disbelief. Like he would do that, even if he was so scared his heart felt as though it were going to burst out his chest. 

"Mr. Smith, I don't think you realize the predicament you are in," hissed the snake thing in front of him.

He grins. "What, are your minions going to beat me up? Because, really, physical torture? Not going to work."

Voldemort's eyes narrow. "Crucio."

He screams, and bends in on himself, curling into a fetus position, and clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to give them what they want. But it's too much, like being slashed with a hundred knives, and he thrashes around on the floor, screaming, as the people around him laugh. It seems to go on forever, but it must only be a few seconds, and when it's finished he lies there, gasping.

Voldemort leans forward. "Tell me, Mr. Smith, were you related to Hephzibah Smith?"

He glares at him. "Go to Hell."

Voldemort nods at Lucius Malfoy at his side, and the blonde man raises his wand.

When all six Death Eaters have had a go at him, he lies on the floor, sweating and weak, but unbroken. Voldemort repeats his question. He just laughs.

"You see?" he gasps, "It's hasn't... worked...I'm not...telling you."

"Maybe not yet, Mr. Smith, but I have a bargaining chip," And he looks towards the door. He hears a commotion outside, and then the doors open, and two Death Eaters come in, pulling someone behind them. He doesn't even have to look, he knows who this is. The girl looks up.

"Zach?" she gasps. He just stares. She's black and blue, clothes ripped, face thin and haggard. He hasn't seen her in three months, and it's difficult to tell how long she's been here. He struggles to get up, and manages to crawl forward a little before Goyle hits him back down. His mouth hits the floor hard, and he hears Daphne scream, and when he coughs, a string of blood and a tooth fall out. He looks up.

"Let her go," he says. "Let her. Go."

Voldemort just laughs. "Mr. Smith, you are in no way free to make requests right now. Now then. Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"Fuck you." He says, and wipes the blood off his mouth.

The snake eyes narrows, and Voldemort nods to the Death Eater opposite him. The Death Eater turns around, walks over to the fire place, and picks up a poker that has been resting in the fire. The two holding Daphne grab her arms, force her head back so her neck and cheek are exposed, and just laugh as she struggles. The one holding the poker advances on her.

"Don't tell him anything," she screams, but then her head is pulled even further back and the poker is placed a centimetre away from her neck. He can't watch, can't let this happen.

"Fine, yes, she was my great-aunt. Happy now?"

The Death Eater with the poker pulls away, and Voldemort nods. "Then you understand that you are related to Helga Hufflepuff?"

He nods sadly. Voldemort laughs.

"You will join me." The words are spoken as if they are an honor, but they flush his blood cold.

"What?" he asks frantically. "No!"

Quick as a flash the poker jumps up and is pressed against her neck. She screams, and with that one sound, Zacharias Smith is broken more completely than any _Crucio_ could achieve.

She crumples to the ground, still screaming, and he shouts, "Fine! Fine! I'll join you!"

Voldemort smirks. "I knew you'd see it our way." He clicks his fingers, and she is dragged away, crying out his name, struggling to break free, and he is left, alone and tainted.

_One month later_

So much has happened in 31 days. He's seen so much death, so much pain, and the whole world knows him as the Dark Lord's right hand man. There are perks to this- he's able to ask Lucius Malfoy what he thinks about his son shagging Ginny Weasley at every opportunity- but this isn't him. Evil is not him, and if Daphne wasn't being used against him, he'd leave and never come back. He isn't even sure she's still alive, but while there's even the slightest chance she is, he isn't leaving her.

He lets himself into the dungeons. The guards aren't here. Voldemort arranged an emergency meeting, which he has decided not to go to. Every one is empty: clearly the Death Eaters aren't doing well. She's in the last one, a dark spot on a black floor. He lets himself in, runs over to her, and touches her shoulder.

She flinches away like he's burnt her, and whimpers, and he's so angry, because what have they done to her to make her like this?

"Daphne?" he whispers. "Daphne, it's me."

"Zach?" She rasps, and turns over slowly. He stifles a cry. Her eyes are black, her lips blue and the burn on her neck red and weeping, unable to heal. Her whole face is swollen, mottled with bruises and cold, and when he touches her arm, it's like ice. She's got her underwear and a t-shirt on, with a thin blanket to cover her, so he hugs her tightly, trying to warm her up. When he comes away, there's blood on his hands. Her back is covered in whip marks, the blood soaking through the thin material of her shirt. Every place he touches is injured, every move she makes causes her to make a noise of pain, and he can barely see through his tears.

"Oh, Daph. What have they done to you?"

She just smiles through blistered lips. "Doesn't matter...You're here." she whispered in a voice so quiet and rough he can barely hear it.

"I'm going to get you out of here." he tells her confidently, gathering her blanket around her.

"Zach?"

He stops and looks at her. She raises a hand to his cheek, and he leans down and kisses her softly. His eyes sting with the effort of holding back the tears that he can't let her see.

Her smile is bittersweet, happy, but full of bad news. She doesn't remove her hand. "I'm glad I got to see you...one last time."

He stares at her, stricken. "No," he whispers, "No, Daphne, you can't... You can't die."

The tears break free, because she can't do this, she can't leave him, she can be saved, he won't let it. But she doesn't know this, there's so much he wants to say and his mouth won't open to let him. She strokes his cheek, and he leans into her touch. He doesn't need to say anything: she knows, knows how much she means, and how she's the only one.

"Love you," she whispers, her voice barely there.

"I love you too," he sobs, and she smiles for the last time, closes her eyes, and her hand drops from his cheek, and it's over, she's gone, taken from him. He whispers "Gone," to himself, and then he's alone, and the only sound is his sobs, as he hugs her broken body to himself.

_End flashback_

He left that day. He joined the good side, but he only did it to avenge her death. He became one the leaders in bringing Voldemort down. The world remembers Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Ron Weasley, the greatest General in the Army, Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater's son, and Zacharias Smith, the former Death Eater. These men changed the War, but only one of them lost the only person they ever cared about.

Lucius Malfoy paid him back for all the snide digs. He told him what they did to her: beatings and torture and rape. Every day, this had happened, and he hadn't done a thing about it. Every Death Eater had been killed, but he still wasn't happy. She wasn't with him.

He picks up the picture, and picks out the biggest piece of glass. The mark on his arm, the thing that reminds him that her death was his fault, is still there, faded slightly, but he can't get rid of it by magic. He pushes it into his skin, doesn't make a sound as it slices, and doesn't stop until his arm is in tatters and there's blood everywhere. There's a chance he won't die, and he can't take that, so he picks up the glass of water and downs the fifty tablets in front of him.

The world remembers Zacharias Smith, former Death Eater, who took his life to be with Daphne Greengrass.


End file.
